


A Life Down The Drain

by EvilConcubine



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Abuse Of An Ill Person, Angst, Bullying, Community: norsekink, Epilepsy, Exorcisms, Hurt Loki, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, Magical Rituals, Possession, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilConcubine/pseuds/EvilConcubine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>~<br/>When Loki is still a child, he starts having some torturous seizures. The nature of his fits remains a mystery, until somebody comes to a frightening conclusion: Loki is not the only occupant of his body.</p><p>Loki grows up with it, not knowing how much time he has left before his body is taken from him. Nobody can help him... But, perhaps, they don't know where to look.<br/>~</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another new story I don't have to look for or export from a site that doesn't allow exporting stories to AO3.
> 
> My usual warning for my imperfect English, which is not my native language (far from it). Unlike Thor and Loki, betas and I are not meant to be.
> 
> This is another story for the 'norsekink' community. I'd always wanted to write something like this, so it was good to find this prompt: [norsekink](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/12950.html?thread=31317910#t31317910), although, I must confess, my story will not entirely follow the prompt, because it was already done before me in another fill. I'm very picky and I can't tell I'm a very big fan of The Avengers characters, I'm much more into 'Thor' characters (and **only** those who are **not** from Midgard), so this story will be written accordingly.
> 
> I must also warn you that I feel much more comfortable with writing Thor's POV than Loki's, but in this particular story Loki's POV is the only way to go. I hope I'm going to be able to do a decent job with it.

     The first time it happened Loki was just a boy, a child of a rather coherent age, but still far from adolescence. He complained that he didn't feel well, confessing that his head hurt when Frigga had started suspecting that something was off about her boy and asked him if he was ailing. He had been far too quiet the whole morning and didn't feel like eating, even feeling slightly nauseous. It also bothered her when she saw the way his left hand was shaking slightly and he didn't seem to be able to control it. He leaned into his Mother's kind touch, as she ran her gentle hand through his black wavy hair and touched the side of his face, making him close his eyes and sigh at the comfort she was giving. She convinced him to go and have some rest and promised to join him in his chambers shortly. He couldn't even remember himself agreeing, as he obediently headed to the exit of the hall where the Royal family were having their breakfast. Loki hadn't even reached the doors yet when he exhaled sharply before some kind of a seizure brought him down onto the floor. He didn't even feel the impact, which seemed pretty hard to everybody who witnessed it in shock. He hadn't had enough time to get scared either, because he wasn't aware of his body writhing on the floor in convulsions, his back arching. The members of his family were beside him at once; Odin sent a servant to get a healer immediately. He also sent Huginn, because the raven would be able to reach the healing chambers first and to, at least, alert a healer.

     Several minutes later, when the puffed out healer arrived, Loki's seizure had already almost subsided. He was in Frigga's arms and she was rocking him with care. Normally, he would've thought he was too big for it, but not now, especially as he hadn’t yet fully regained consciousness. At first, he couldn't speak at all, but then he quietly complained that his head and mouth hurt. His mind barely registered him speaking at all. It turned out he had bitten the side of his tongue pretty badly, there was blood in his mouth, but he was too tired and confused to care.

     The healer didn't seem to know what was wrong. At first, some people even decided that the young Prince had been poisoned; the guards were alerted, but the healer disproved the suspicion. All he could say was that Loki must have hit his head during some very active game and it had caused this kind of reaction, but the further examination didn't show any head trauma, so the healer and his assistants were making helpless gestures, while Loki was in his Mother's arms even now that they were in the healing chambers. She’d never left his side. The next day Loki felt better and was released. He was examined several times after that, though, and nothing seemed wrong.

 

     It didn't occur again for several years, and everybody calmed down, assured that, whatever had happened to the youngest Prince, wouldn't happen again. But it did happen one day when Thor and Loki, who was not even a teen yet, while his brother was already a young teen, went to a market, accompanied by a servant, who was also a skilful bodyguard. The sun seemed too bright and Loki's mood wasn't as good as several hours earlier. He'd had enough sleep the previous night, but, albeit he wasn't sleepy, his head and stomach felt strange, as if he'd been up all night. He had a bad feeling about it, but couldn't explain it. He felt confused and was looking around, suddenly afraid to get lost, for some reason. And that damned sun was so bright... Thor seemed oblivious, excitedly looking through some exotic wares from other realms, specifically focused on weapons. Loki wasn't interested. He was trembling and feeling some odd, metallic taste in his mouth. Despite the bright (too bright), hot sun, he felt a little cold. He only wanted to be back in his chambers, where he could close the curtains; all of them. And then it happened... It felt as if a lightning had gone through his body, only it had gone through his feet and up to his head. He tried to call for help, but his tongue didn't work and he could no longer hold his head upright. His arms and legs suddenly stopped working as well. They felt as if they were being prickled by hundreds of tiny needles. Then he collapsed. He lost consciousness, but wasn't deeply unconscious, at the same time. There were brief flashes of odd, incoherent visions, but, perhaps, they were reality, distorted by his strange condition. He was probably talking to somebody (or was trying to), but couldn't comprehend his own words. He could vaguely feel that his hands and feet felt like they had fallen asleep; he couldn't move them, but they hurt. But, soon enough, even this weak awareness slipped away from him.

     He woke up in the healing chambers some time later. His parents and Thor were there with him. He saw puzzled faces of the healers who, once more, didn't seem to have come to any conclusion. To Loki's relief, his hands and feet were working again: for a moment, he had been afraid that he had become permanently disabled. They felt strange, but they were working and he grabbed his Mother's hand with one of his own almost instinctively, searching for her support, which was immediately given.

     Once more, the fit hadn't been explained. Loki stayed in the healing chambers for a few more days, and his parents and brother often came to him to make sure he was feeling better. Thor even stayed with him at nights, wishing to keep an eye on his little brother. Loki appreciated it, even though it would’ve been embarrassing for him to admit it openly.

 

* * *

 

     The healers promised to make a careful, thorough research. They were familiar with the symptoms somewhat similar to Loki's, but they'd only seen them happening in those who had suffered serious head traumas before the magic healed the cause of the rare symptom, when it was possible to save the life of someone who had suffered through something like that, that is. Which was, actually, entirely possible with the advanced healing magic their realm could offer. But Loki hadn't had any such traumas. He did have some brain problems, they could tell, but what had caused them remained a mystery.

 

     There were still no answers when a couple of months later Loki had another seizure. It was during one of his lessons. At first, he felt like he couldn't stay awake. He felt cold and tasted the familiar by then metallic taste in his mouth, and then he was no longer aware of his surroundings at all. He came to his senses lying on the floor with his tongue bitten and his muscles aching. Frigga and a healer were there by his side. This time it took a little less time for him to recover. However, the next time happened only several weeks later. He had enough time to really get scared during that time, yet he still passed out soon enough. And, while he was still unconscious after the convulsions had passed, as he was told later, he’d said some strange things, something absolutely meaningless that made no sense, that hadn’t even sounded like him. **That** was probably what gave one of the healers the idea of what was wrong with him.

     The healer made a comprehensive research, finding some rare books on magic, too. His diagnosis was a frightening sentence. He insisted that the Prince was possessed. Almost absent-mindedly, as if they were talking about somebody else, Loki watched the healer poking at the long paragraphs in the books, explaining that such type of seizures indicated that a person was possessed by some entity. Frigga and Odin didn't look convinced. And yet, perhaps, there was some magic involved? Maybe Loki had been cursed by somebody so powerful that it was hard to detect? After all, they were royalty; they had enemies. And, while Odin and Frigga were too powerful, the enemies could be as dishonourable and vile as to go after one of their sons. Frigga used her own magic to examine her boy thoroughly. She found nothing. The healer suggested that Loki had possibly been born already possessed by the spirit, and it was something that had stuck to him before he had been born into this world, therefore, it was a part of him and it was hardly possible to detect now. Still, Loki's parents weren't satisfied with those dubious assumptions. There was no proof and all those theories didn't seem convincing enough to them.

 

     But Loki's fits kept happening. He was afraid and embarrassed. People gave him odd looks now. Somehow, they already knew about the healer's diagnosis. Loki knew people were whispering behind his back. They were talking about him being odd. He had always been odd. Some said that, if he was normal, he wouldn't have been so interested in seiðr (some people had seen him taking books on dark sorcery in the palace library), and he must be, indeed, possessed if he was so unlike most other youths. What normal youth of Asgard would spend so much time with books on sorcery, let alone dark sorcery?

     Those were just idle talks, but they angered and upset Loki. Every now and then, he talked back, said nasty things to those who dared to slander him, thinking he was deaf to their gossip. But his anger and threats only convinced some of them that they were right. Not everybody believed the rumours though. Many people just dismissed them as something that old shrews in the market would gossip about, so all those talks about the Prince's possession shouldn't be taken seriously.

 

     The proud-looking sorceresses presented Loki with a flask of some potion they'd brewed for him, using some rare ingredients that were supposed to make the unwanted presence feel uncomfortable in the body of a host, so it would leave it, eventually. It had been brewed by the best specialists, since it was the member of the Royal family whose life was at stake; so it had to be perfect. The sorceresses were quite certain that, sooner or later, the potion would chase the alien presence out of Loki. He was advised to take the medicine every day.

     Loki did. Soon enough, he got used to the bitter herbal taste that started his mornings.

     But the miracle didn't happen. Loki's fits continued to occur, sometimes once in a couple of months, sometimes once or twice per month, or so. At first, the sorceresses insisted that it was normal, that the potion **probably** wasn't supposed to work immediately, but they seemed no longer convinced about their own words. They constantly changed the formula of the potion, adding something new into it or excluding something they deemed useless. But it brought no result.

  
* * *

 

     One day, Loki's fit happened during the visit of guests from Vanaheim. Concerned, they enquired what was wrong with the youngest son of Odin, as said unconscious son was being carried away to the healing chambers, as soon as his convulsions on the floor had stopped. And somebody kindly informed the guests about Loki's possession, about him carrying the Evil in him since his very birth. Vanaheim was a friend of Asgard; Vanaheim had plenty of exceptionally skilful mages, so they gladly offered their help, as they had carefully approached the subject during one of their conversations with Odin.

 

     Loki didn't want any of this, but he knew that he was shaming his family. They were royalty, they constantly had people's attention on them, and Loki only wanted to make the Evil go away and make his family proud of him. He kept thinking about them, as he was sitting in the centre of a large circle that was carved into the stone floor of some ancient building of Vanaheim. They’d said it was a sacred magical place. The circle was made of carved symbols, the meaning of which Loki didn't know, despite his interest in seiðr. The adolescent boy felt small inside the magical circle, small and naked, as he was only wearing his underwear. 

     He didn't know how others could tell he was possessed. He didn't feel like there was anything else living in his body. But people only saw it as a sign that he was so accustomed to being accompanied by the Evil that he couldn't even feel it. While he didn't feel the Evil, he hated it and was scared of it, constantly expecting it to forcibly remove him from his own body and take a full control of it. His thoughts were dark and unhappy, but they distracted him from the long hours of enduring the mages around him chanting their spells, just outside the circle. There were seven mages surrounding him, and they all were in some kind of a trance; the altered state of consciousness was evident on their faces, in their eyes. Despite the All-speak, Loki didn't understand their language. It was just as unfamiliar, as the runes on the floor. 

     They gave him some drink and, soon, Loki himself was in some odd kind of state resembling trance. He lay down on the floor, unable to sit straight any longer. It was a rather pleasant condition, albeit drug-induced, and he lost track of time to that peaceful and, not unpleasant, dizziness and lethargy. But the next thing he knew was horrible pain that violently tore him out of his dream-like state. He was whimpering, trying to understand what was going on and where the pain was coming from. His body was weak and heavy due to the drink he had consumed. Then he finally managed to see what was causing him such pain. One of the mages was carving some symbol into the skin on the inside of Loki's forearm. It was deep and he was wondering why he wasn't bleeding more than he was. The auburn-haired mage who was cutting him had a bowl of some slightly muddy liquid on the floor next to him. The mage dipped the blade into that acidic liquid every time before making a new, nearly excruciating, cut, which was why it probably hurt so much and the cuts were bleeding less than they should have. The liquid burned and stung when the drops of it just fell from the dagger onto Loki's skin. Through his tears, Loki could see his Mother trying to run to him, absolutely refusing to let her son be subjected to anything like this, but some man (he was from the royal family of Vanaheim, as Loki vaguely recognised) was trying to calm her down and hold her back. Loki could hear him telling her that she shouldn't interrupt the ritual; it wouldn't work, otherwise, and all of this would be for nothing. There was a helpless pain on her face and she pressed her hand to her chest, where her heart was aching for her son.

     Loki could no longer look at her. Why him? Why? It was so unfair to them... Another scream tore out of his throat as another symbol was being carved into his other forearm. The pain was so intense, he couldn't stop crying now. The mages around him kept chanting their spells and he desperately wanted them to shut up; he hated them. All of them. Or maybe it was the Evil inside him that hated the kind people who were only trying to help? He knew he should be ashamed of his tears and screams, but he wanted all of this to end; he wanted to go home, to his parents, to his brother. He knew he had to be strong. He was young, but he wasn't a child any longer. He wanted his family to be proud of him; he wanted to endure the ritual and to be free of the spirit, so all of them, his family and he, would be happy. He wanted to stop being a bother and an embarrassment...

     The mage's surprisingly strong arms deftly turned him onto his stomach, and all he knew was pain and his own endless screams and weeping, as the next symbol was being carved into the skin of his upper back. His fingernails desperately dug into the hard stone floor. The mage, who kept doing his job, hadn't yet finished the new symbol before Loki passed out, because of the overwhelming pain.

 

     He woke up to a gentle hand rubbing his wrist lightly. He knew this touch, it was his Mother's, but, for some reason, it didn't feel welcome at the moment. He flinched and opened his eyes to find himself lying on his stomach. His forearms were bandaged. Almost immediately, he recalled the agonising ritual and shuddered. There was no pain now, but he could feel the carved marks on his skin. It didn't feel like they had been healed.

‘Is it gone?’ was the first thing he managed to utter. His throat felt sore from screaming, so the question sounded hoarse. The Evil had to be gone. After everything Loki had endured, it just had to be gone by now.

‘Hopefully’, Frigga replied quietly. To Loki the answer sounded uncertain, but maybe his Mother was just tired. She looked tired and guilty, and he tried to tell her that it wasn't her fault. She interrupted him before he did, though, and said that the Vanir mages insisted that his marks were not to be healed with magic; Frigga, however, had used poultices to stop the bleeding and dull his pain, making sure he wouldn't feel it once he woke up. She said that the mages were certain that he was no longer possessed. Loki asked her if she had seen the evil spirit. He asked what it looked like when it had left his body. Frigga quietly answered that she had seen no such thing. And, as Loki was about to get upset at that, she said that the mages had told her that such things weren't necessarily visible to their eyes. But, once more, to Loki she sounded uncertain. Mother blamed herself for his pain, she doubted that what had been done to him was worth it, that much was clear, even though she didn't say it aloud; but Loki knew she was wrong, he knew it was worth it.

 

     Together they decided to hope for the better. The Vanir insisted that they had performed one of the most powerful rituals their mages knew and that even exceptionally powerful entities didn't stand a chance. Frigga and Loki went back home to Odin and Thor, who were waiting for them. Loki felt sore; Frigga made sure he wasn't in any pain though. But when he moved and his healing (and scarring) skin was stretching, it was rather unpleasant. He had three magical symbols carved in his body. Yes, they would scar, but Loki thought it was a small price to pay for finally becoming normal.

     When less than a fortnight later he felt by now very familiar symptoms, he started crying and wet himself before collapsing and losing consciousness. Thor's strong arms caught him before he would’ve hit the floor, but Loki could no longer care as everything had gone blank.

     He was mortified, miserable and painfully disappointed. The ritual hadn't worked, he was still possessed. He'd had a seizure in front of many people that had likely been looking at him as if he was a freak show. He'd even wet himself (he wasn't sure if it was because of fear or because his muscles didn't work properly during his seizures); it had happened before, but never in public. The fits **had** happened in public before, though, quite a few times, actually, but publicly wetting himself felt beyond humiliating. Thor swore that nobody, except for him and probably the healer, had seen that Loki had been wet, but the younger Prince absolutely refused to leave his chambers ‘ever again’ and ended up yelling at Thor and begging him to get out and to go to his **normal** friends. But as, saddened, Thor was gone, or rather pushed out of his chambers, Loki started wailing inconsolably, and couldn't stop for a good hour. His head and his whole body hurt so badly... Why was that Evil torturing him so? Why couldn't it just take his body and finally let him die, instead of putting him through such a disgrace time and again?

 

     Only a couple of days later, as he was lying in his bed, it struck again. Loki was terrified, as his body stopped functioning properly, his muscles hurt and his whole body felt cold and prickled with invisible needles, his awareness was slowly fading away before it was gone completely. Later, he didn't tell anybody about that episode, feeling relieved, for once, that it had taken place in his chambers, while he was alone in his soft bed. At the same time, it was especially frightening to be alone in a moment like that, on his own with the Evil... 

     Every time he knew a seizure was coming, he was afraid that, that was it, he wasn't going to wake up again. Before some of his fits, he had a terrifying, cold, bone-deep feeling of impending death, a feeling he couldn't explain, but was quite certain that it was the Evil murdering him. It was the worst feeling he'd ever experienced, and he felt so terribly alone in it every time. But still, he kept surviving his seizures and wondered if the Evil was just torturing him for fun or still wasn't strong enough to kill him properly. He had no doubt it had fun either way, though.

 

     It took his family almost two fortnights to convince him to leave the confinement of his chambers, at least to dine with them, instead of taking his meals on his own, locked up in his chambers, demanding that the servants left his meals near his doors and went away before he opened the doors just enough to take trays of food inside. He was an adolescent, a young man; his family tried their best to give him a normal life, but he knew he couldn't be normal. Still, he stopped locking himself up and started leaving his chambers again. He was sure that some people weren't happy about it, and he wanted to spite them. He was vengeful towards those who liked to gossip about his tragedy or mock him because of it. He wasn't kind to them and it had got him in trouble on many occasions. And, while he preferred to hide from them and pretend that he didn't care what they thought, sometimes he lashed out, which didn't do his already poor reputation any favours.

  
* * *

 

     His reputation, however, became even worse after one of his most notable episodes. It was the celebration of another centenary of Odin’s reign; there were many people around, both nobles and commoners, outside the palace in one of the biggest squares of Asgard. Loki hadn't really expected the fit, too distracted with relaxed, celebratory atmosphere, he hadn't noticed the signs before it was too late. He needed solitude, he wanted to leave, but he couldn't. He was still on his feet when his body started shaking, his muscles stiffening. Losing his balance, he stumbled back a little and started to fall. Panic made him, almost unconsciously, summon up his magic to help him, somehow, in any possible way. He didn't even have a slightest idea of how it could help him at all; his magic was just as incoherent as he was at the moment. But, as he passed out, convulsing on the ground with his back arched, apparently, the Evil took control of his magic. Many people saw others getting hurt when the invisible, uneven, hot wave of magic swept over them and burned them in the process, blistering their skin and leaving some soot on their damaged clothes and not particularly damaged armour, goblets and other utensils. There were twelve people who actually got hurt, but, thankfully, the damage wasn't too serious. The incident was very much serious, though. Those who hadn't witnessed it, were rather soon informed by those who had.

     Some petitioned Odin to forbid his son to study magic, but the Allfather wasn't in a hurry to agree to it. He didn't say it aloud, but he didn't want to deprive Loki of things he enjoyed, and studying seiðr was one of a very few things his youngest enjoyed in his life. Loki wasn't sure if it was purely his Father's decision or his Mother and Father had made that decision together. It was a very serious situation and they were taking risks, all three of them knew it. Loki's parents didn't want their son to suffer for misdeeds of another being, but it was clear that, if incidents like that happened again, Odin would be forced to do what people expected of him, for everybody's safety; he would have to restrain Loki's magic, rather than forbid him to study it further (it was hard to tell what was worse). At any rate, the younger Prince was thankful that his Father had given him a chance.

     He was even more terrified of his episodes now, and every day he woke up wondering if another one was going to happen that day. He was nervous and embarrassed, and he had to go through his days, ignoring some people's accusing glances. Their whispers weren't new, but, if before the incident with Loki's magic many had had doubts, everybody knew now that the rumours weren't just rumours.

 

     He hated having seizures in public above everything, especially when he wet himself, which had happened more than once now that he was older, more times than he wanted to remember. He made a spectacle of himself every time, and he knew what people thought. Some were squeamish and preferred to just turn around and leave, instead of staring at the abomination writhing on the floor or ground, others liked to watch, as if half-expecting Loki to finally become entirely controlled by the entity and attack. Perhaps, they were waiting for a show with some noble warriors destroying the Evil for good when it attacked. Loki knew that some youths laughed at him, mocked him behind his back, rolling their eyes and jerking in mock convulsions when they were talking about him. He knew how cruel some adolescents and children could be; he remembered how, when he had been younger, still a child, in fact, one slightly older youth had pocked him with a stick when Loki had been lying on the ground, recovering after a fit and feeling absolutely terrible and helpless. He had been poked with a stick once more, and it had made him feel worthless and hurt beyond words. He'd wanted to disappear, to be swallowed by the ground there and then, but he couldn't even get up, his weak limbs trembling slightly. There had been at least a dozen of pairs of scrutinising, curious eyes watching him. When he'd finally managed to get up, reeling with a terrible headache, the other youths and children had crowded him, asking too personal, too uncomfortable questions, and all he’d wanted was to be alone, away from them, as far as possible.

     That occurrence had left a painful imprint in his memory.

     Older people sometimes shook their heads and quietly sympathised with the Royal family that had to endure all of it, whilst being so kind and patient with a burden like Loki. But he was their son, so, of course, they had no choice but put up with his condition. Those who had children of their own could understand why Loki still hadn’t been disowned. Some people pitied Odin and Frigga, some just accepted the fact of Loki’s possession as something that had already become natural, others were disgusted with him or wary when he was having his public seizures. He was aware of all of that, and, every now and then, he silently wished bad things to happen to more than a few individuals. And why not? He had been born sharing his body with an evil spirit, after all.

 

     Sometimes it felt like all of those things, not just the Evil, were killing him. At some points of his life, he ignored it all and just tried to **live** , at others – it became unbearable and he thought he felt as if the end was near. It was just a matter of time before it came, at any rate, but he had no idea as to when.

 

* * *

 

     One day, he was walking to his Mother's chambers and, all of a sudden, had what later would become a lapse of memory. When his senses were back to him, he was lying in his own bed. His Mother and a servant were fussing over him. Apparently, he'd had another fit, judging by the usual pains, weakness and other signs. To his surprise, Sif was there in his chambers as well. She was just leaving, quietly closing the doors behind her; their eyes met only for a second.

     He wanted to know what had happened and decided to find her, once he felt well enough. While they weren't really friends (she was Thor's friend, in the first place, a very good one at that), Loki knew that, hypothetically, he could approach her and she wouldn't push him away, not because of his biggest problem, at least. She wouldn't get wary around him, of that he was certain. Even in case she only saw him as an abomination, like many other people did, at least, she didn't see him as a threat. And, yes, she was Thor's friend and Loki was Thor's little brother, which gave him some special privileges with some of his older brother's friends. Sif was older than he, she was even slightly older than Thor. She was suspicious of Loki, that much he knew, but it was, most likely, because of those occasional phases when others saw him as a walking nightmare and a troublemaker; they didn’t call him the Trickster for nothing. He hoped she had forgiven him for cutting a long, thick strand of her black hair (more than one third of her hair, to be honest) when he had been rather young and decided that her hair was perfect for one of his newly learnt magical tricks, so he had chosen a good moment to sneak up on her, while she had been distracted with talking to somebody. Being younger and much smaller than she back then had been his advantage. He had been scolded by his parents, Thor and Sif herself for it. He’d thought he’d never hear the end of it. It had also earned him a rather painful smack to the bottom from her, the one that had made him shriek. But it was in the past now, wasn’t it? She always thought he had something on his mind, but she didn't seem to care about the Evil. But, what Loki liked most about her, was that she wasn't a gossip or a blabbermouth and, if he approached her, she wouldn't start running around telling everybody about the stupid Prince foolishly confiding in her. 

     His nervousness proved to be futile when he actually approached her after she'd ended her training session and already bathed after it. She didn't look annoyed that he was bothering her without Thor’s presence (which was, basically, the only way Loki and Sif had ever really interacted with each other). She patiently waited for him to ask his questions about the things he couldn't remember otherwise. She explained that she'd met him in that corridor, while she had been walking to Thor's chambers, and Loki, looking disoriented, had told her something completely incoherent, as if it wasn't even he at all; he hadn't seemed to be recognising her and had had no idea where he was. Sif had guided him back into his own chambers and he hadn't protested. He'd complied obediently, as she'd made him lie down onto his bed, since she knew that his episodes often left him bruised and hurt (and she also knew that he could act strangely before one of them to suspect that that was exactly what had been happening). To his terror, Loki remembered none of it. She told him, she'd sent one of the guards to inform the Queen, while Sif herself had been staying with Loki before Frigga had entered. But, before his Mother had come, his convulsions had begun. Loki anxiously asked Sif if he (or something that **wasn't** he) had been frightening or aggressive when she'd met 'him' in the corridor. 

‘Not at all’, she replied. To her he'd looked more tired, confused and disoriented than anything else. But that was Sif for you: she was strong and she wasn't easy to frighten.

     She was also trustworthy, and he wondered if he could ask her to slay the Evil, once it overtook him, so that his family wouldn't have to kill the body that had been once Loki's, because it would hurt them to do, even if they were tired of him, tired of worrying for him and wanted it all to be finally over, so they could live their lives without having to fuss over him. Maybe Sif could just give him a quick, merciful death when she saw that something else was getting in control of his body?.. He failed to summon up his courage and actually ask her for it; the words were stuck in his suddenly closed throat, as soon as he'd started uttering them. Sif gave him a look of worry, and he could only imagine what he looked like at the moment. He shook his head though, whispered his thanks and left.

     The information Sif had given him was disturbing. Loki was afraid that the spirit was finally taking control; walking and talking on its own. It had spoken before (which was something that had opened the eyes of the healer who had first got to the roots of the problem), but not like this. It suddenly occurred to him that the Evil could hurt his unsuspecting family. Barely able to hold back his tears and trying to sound somewhat official, rather than emotional (he knew he was failing though), he informed his family of it. He told them that he was losing the battle he had not been able to fight, in the first place, that he didn't know how much longer he would be himself and insisted that they had to be careful around him. He wanted them to always have their weapons on them and use them if they saw that he didn't look like himself. In the end, he started sobbing, and his Mother did her best to comfort him, while Thor and Odin just looked lost and sad.

 

     Loki had never had as many seizures in such a short period of time as during the time he was so stressed and restless after that occurrence, often wondering when exactly he would lose his body to his invisible foe. Because of the frequency and intensity of his episodes, he thought that the end was, indeed, close now. That horrible feeling of impending death he kept having prior to some of his fits didn't make things easier at all. As he started to calm down and accept that everything was lost to him, there were fewer seizures, and, once more, he started having them once a month, sometimes a little less or a little more frequently than that. The spirit had an odd sense of humour.

 

     Still, he tried to use different magical techniques he'd found in some books to speak to the Evil, so that he could hear it too, just like, he was sure, it could hear him; all the time, he believed. He begged it to leave him alone, and, if not, it could have his body but... ‘I'm begging you, don't hurt my family...’ It never spoke back. It didn't care about his pathetic attempts.

  
* * *

 

     He never stopped being afraid of having another episode, it was always in the back of his mind, but, as he was more or less resigned to it, he managed to at least have some semblance of normal life. He didn't want his situation to keep him away from his favourite occupations, while he could still have them. He probably wouldn't have thought that way if not for his Mother's persistence. She gave him strength to get out of his bed in the mornings when he had no strength or motivation of his own. She even took him travelling with her. They had travelled before, of course, mostly Frigga, Thor and Loki, when the princes had been younger, but now his Mother tried to give him things that would be able to distract him from his despondent thoughts as much as possible.

     But he knew he couldn't have everything that others had. He couldn't have what normal people often took for granted. For example, he was almost an adult man, but he'd never been intimately involved with anybody. He wasn't sure he really needed it, but he was young and curious. From what he'd heard, all of his coevals already had, at the very least, some experience in those matters. And, while most young men liked to brag about their conquests, Loki had nothing to tell, even if he wanted to; not that anybody asked him to, fortunately, because he didn't need to give people more reasons to laugh at him, even if it was an innocent teasing. He didn’t take teasing or any sort of critics well, it was a common knowledge.

     Thor had long started having one fling after another, perhaps sooner than many other youths they knew had. Now that he was an adult, his conquests were quite numerous. Every time Loki saw him with another woman, he hoped with all his heart that it wouldn't last, that for Thor it wasn't serious. It was logical to assume that Loki was just being envious... Who could be attracted to anybody like him with his terrible reputation, well-known in most realms by now? He knew he was nothing like Thor, who was so attractive, easy-going (even though he was rowdy at times), strong, exceptional, brave; you’d be able to notice him and single him out from a group of thousands, and... and Loki, just like plenty of other people, had fallen hard for his golden sun of a brother. He wasn't envious, he was jealous; he hated all of them flirting with Thor, bating their eyelashes at him and giggling. It was pathetic and disgusting...

 

‘...I've no doubt that even **you** are perfectly aware that I shall never have anybody...’ Loki murmured one evening when they were sitting on the spacious balcony of his chambers; just Thor and he, for once. The night was about to take over and the autumnal air felt pleasantly fresh and cool. For Thor it was just a small talk, but Loki couldn’t help getting angry that his brother just wouldn’t understand that he didn’t like being asked why he was always alone and wouldn’t find someone to spend his nights with.

‘Nonsense! You're so clever and witty. I'm certain you'd easily find someone if you put your mind to it’, Thor replied light-heartedly, rubbing Loki's shoulder and giving him a smile. The younger Prince frowned a little. Thor was just trying to comfort him, but they both knew that his words were not true... Or not entirely true. In any case, Loki was much more realistic by now. Also, he didn't need 'someone'. He probably had no time left for 'someone', even if he tricked said 'someone' into overlooking the fact that he was possessed by a dangerous entity, which people had already seen in action when it had turned Loki's own magic against the unsuspecting individuals, who had been unlucky enough to be near him back then.

     Thor opened his mouth and Loki knew what exactly was about to come out of it. He already hated it. He knew his brother was about to offer his help, perhaps, he even wanted to seduce somebody for Loki. Before that infuriating, absolutely sickening, idea was voiced, he talked first:

‘May I ask you a favour?’ he almost whispered, trying his best to keep the trembling out of his voice, mostly failing, of course, and rubbing his slightly sweaty palms together. 

     And he asked for a favour. A kiss. Thor's kiss. The younger of the two allowed himself to mention that the Evil could take over any moment and he would cease existing. He would die, never finding out what it felt like to be touched in that manner, and he didn't want it from just anybody he couldn’t care less about. There was quite a bit of manipulation in what he was doing, but there was also much more truth in his words than he liked to admit to himself. Hadn't he suffered enough? Didn't he deserve a moment of having something he wanted so much? Just a moment, just an illusion of having it…

     Thor was looking at him in pure shock for a few seconds, and Loki braced himself for rejection. It definitely wasn’t what Thor had wanted to achieve with that supposedly optimism-inducing talk of encouragement, and it definitely wasn’t what a regular young men’s conversation usually sounded like. It took the older of the two some time to consider his little brother's request, as he hadn’t dismissed it immediately, despite the fact that he’d probably found it odd or even ridiculous. Loki already regretted saying anything at all. He couldn't even look back at his sibling. He got up to leave, not sure if he wanted to be there a moment longer. 

     But, suddenly, Thor was very close and his nose softly rubbed against Loki's, whose breath hitched in his throat. His heart made a somersault in his chest, as Thor's warm arms embraced him, while the warm breath of the older brother was ghosting against his lips. The wish was granted... Generously. Thor's mouth captured his. Loki complied instinctively, as if he had been made for giving himself like this. But he was shaking, shaking all over. The warm hands soothingly rubbed his back, trying to make him relax. But how could he when his mouth was invaded by a skilful, wet tongue? There was a soft whine in the back of his own throat. He wasn't sure he remembered how to breathe and he wasn't sure he cared. His eyes were shut and he didn't know when exactly he had closed them. The sensations of the other's mouth, softly devouring his own, and the tongue, were simply overwhelming. Thor's mouth felt and tasted like a blessing, filling Loki with life and spirit, and other things he'd lacked so much. It was a real, deep kiss, and Thor, thankfully, didn’t seem repulsed. It was probably the best, the most mind-blowing thing the younger of the two had ever felt in his life. He wouldn't mind dying like this...

     The two kissing princes were standing on the balcony pressed against each other, not yet noticing that the very first snow of the year had slowly started falling onto them.

 

     He couldn't sleep that night, feeling his heart and stomach clenching with sweet longing. He felt elated and kept replaying the kiss in his mind over and over again. He couldn't even touch himself that night (and many nights after that), imagining Thor's warm hands on him, because he didn't want to taint everything with his own touch. So he was just looking up at the golden-patterned ceiling, his currently unseeing eyes wide and his heart fluttering.

     Loki knew he had been kissed out of pity, of course. But it didn't really matter. Thor loved him, not the way Loki loved him, but it didn't matter, either; he could pretend that for a sweet moment back then, there had been more than there actually had been. It was stupid and sentimental, but he couldn’t make himself care.

     Thor had kissed him.

 

     They never discussed the kiss, but Loki didn't think they had to. Sometimes Thor gave him pensive looks, slightly awkward for the both of them, but, later, he didn't seem to think about that night at all. Had he forgotten? And why wouldn’t he? He was surrounded by normal people, whose company was much more appropriate and who actually could have Thor as lover. Loki wasn't even remotely that lucky. There was a downside of granted wishes – you always desired more. But that had been very much expected in Loki's case, so he accepted it as something natural. Sometimes he thought that, if he had the thinnest of chances of having what he desired, he wouldn't have even thought twice before giving himself at Thor's mercy, even if it meant for him to be used and thrown away in the end. He would've forgotten his dignity and self-esteem (there wasn't much of those to start with, even though most people believed him to be full of himself, self-important and haughty), just for the sake of the forbidden touch of his golden brother. But he could never have it, just like he could never be Thor's equal, no matter how much he wanted to be.

  
* * *

 

     He was covertly watching Thor courting some busty, slightly plump maiden, who was highly receptive of his advances and attentions (who wouldn't be? Who?). It hurt every time, although the forthcoming decades would only leave a dull ache, the embers of pain. What right did he have to feel hurt and betrayed? He was watching Thor's bright, happy and beautiful smile as the older Prince was entertaining the maiden, no doubt, groping her thighs under the table, which she didn’t mind at all. Loki lowered his eyes, unwilling to see any more of this, and unexpectedly felt Mother's hand rubbing his shoulder, her touch full of comfort. She gave him a sad, knowing and sympathetic smile. He wasn't surprised that she obviously knew about his feelings. He smiled back at her as best as he could and she managed to distract him with some small talk before he left the feast and went to his chambers, where he stayed up for many hours, wondering if he would be aware during the moment of his death when his body would be taken from him for good. If he would be aware, he knew he would be remembering his Mother's gentle voice and hands; he would be remembering his Father, strong and powerful as a mountain, standing up for him, a disgrace of a son, while some people carefully nudged the Allfather to give up on the black sheep. And Thor... He would be thinking about Thor, the time they'd spent together, only the remarkable events, since he doubted that he would have much time. And the kiss... He would be thinking about the kiss they'd shared, even if it meant nothing to Thor. Or, perhaps, he would be too scared to think about anything at all, except for the terror of his life being taken away from him.

     He closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose shakily. The faint metallic taste in his mouth made him wonder if it was going to happen that very night.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry it has taken me so long to update this. Most of this second and final chapter was written quite a long time ago, but I wanted to post it as one chapter, instead of splitting it. I don't think I want to bore you with the details of me having some real life difficulties and writer's block as a result of them. I also apologise to those whom I promised to update a few months ago, but didn't.
> 
> I've made some small corrections in the first chapter, but they aren't important for the plot, so you don't have to read it again.
> 
> Anyway, the story is now complete, and I hope you're going to enjoy reading it.

     Elves had powerful practitioners of magic, healing magic included, but, as they examined Loki, they failed to find the entity in him. They were quiet, their magic gentle, as it was flowing through him, almost like a caress, as if everything about him was precious and needed to be treated accordingly. Most of them looked compassionate, and it was simultaneously comforting and a little uncomfortable. They were gentle by nature; their empathy was well-known, and, perhaps, they could feel Loki's sufferings during the examination, as well as his hopes that this time somebody would be able to actually help him. But they had nothing to reassure him. They said they couldn't destroy what they couldn't find, and, unlike Vanir years earlier, Elves wouldn't work blindly. Some of them were wondering if Loki was truly born with that mysterious spirit they'd failed to detect and it simply couldn't be separated from him; others treated that theory quite sceptically, insisting that no such thing had ever happened before, unless it was a precedent, which they doubted was the case either.

     Later, in the confinement of his bedchamber, Loki was staring at his reflection in a mirror, wondering in which part of his body, in which organ, in which layer of his mind, in which secret dimension of his soul, the Evil resided. How could he remove it? Which part of his body or soul did he have to amputate to make it go away? Throughout the years he had been researching, he kept trying different methods of examining himself, to no avail. If his powerful parents had failed to do anything, then how could he? And yet, he still had a vague idea of what to do next, because, recently, his research on the subject had introduced him to the books, written by an individual that was well-versed in everything that had anything to do with possessions. They were not books on how to actually perform certain rituals; they didn't give much detail on it. They were more like journals of a person, who was used to working with things like that.

 

     According to various sources, both reliable ones and not particularly, the mage was one of the best at this particular subject in all the Nine Realms. He could free a person from being mind-controlled by another mage (even when the victim was reduced to a mindless puppet), he could protect anybody's mind from being read by a mage who had such a skill, and he could also help people, possessed by any beings that didn't belong to the worlds of living. The mage had good recommendations; his books seemed quite impressive, too, so Loki couldn't help keeping his hopes high. And so, the Prince decided that he should find the author of those books. He had his doubts; his parents were among the most powerful mages in the Universe, but even they couldn’t help him, so he really wasn’t sure about involving someone he hadn’t heard about before a few months earlier. But if there was a chance, he wasn’t about to waste it.

     Birgir was an ageing half-Vanr, half-Ás, who was rather enthusiastic about being summoned by the royalty of the golden realm. Loki convinced his family not to interfere when the guest started working with him; the Prince wanted to do everything in private. Frigga didn't like it, but Loki didn't want her involved, remembering how much it had hurt her when she'd witnessed that ritual on Vanaheim. Loki, most definitely, didn't expect it to be nearly as painful as back then, though.

     And it wasn't. Not at first.

     Loki confided in the mage, providing all the necessary information. He hoped that the details could be useful. He told Birgir things that barely anyone knew, such as the fact that he was having some sort of hallucinations before some of his seizures (not that he could remember all of them afterwards). For example, he could see some objects unevenly illuminated while the real light seemed brighter than it was supposed to be. Sometimes he saw light out of the corner of his eye, but, as soon as he turned to it, the light was gone. Not many people knew about those details. Loki didn't want any conversations about his sanity (or rather insanity) behind his back, on top of those about his infamous condition.

     Since Birgir had never seen a case like Loki's, he was very eager to take the challenge; there was no need to persuade him. He started with spells and mixes of infusions he'd personally invented for his previous clients. His first goal was summoning the entity and interacting with it directly. But that didn't work. Later, Birgir decided that the only time he could do it was during one of Loki's seizures. After the mage had finally witnessed one of them in person, Loki woke up sore all over, more than he normally was, his forearms were littered with small, bloody dots, inflicted by an enchanted silver needle he’d been obviously stabbed with repeatedly. Apparently, the Vanir mages had been right and there were no painless ways out of this.

     After several unsuccessful attempts to summon the Evil and confront it, Birgir found the way to induce the seizures with another bitter mix of infusions he prepared. It had taken some time to invent one, but he was good at such things. The potion worked almost every time. But things just wouldn’t progress from that point.

     At first, Loki didn't mind and didn't care, but later he would start feeling that he was just a subject to experiment on. He, most definitely, didn't like it, but he didn't want to complain to his family; after all, the idea to involve this mage had been his own. He was already a burden and, telling his family that the mage was sometimes becoming overzealous and violent, wasn't something he wanted to bother them with. He had nothing to lose if he kept up the attempts anyway. He still stubbornly hoped that, in the end, his sufferings would be justified and rewarded, although that conviction was slowly fading away.

     Loki knew he was close to having another seizure, less than an hour after taking the potion, the taste of which he knew so well by now. He could still taste it along with the equally familiar metallic taste in his mouth. He was half-conscious, knowing that the fit was about to strike. He wanted to ask for help, but when he started speaking, it was something incoherent and he couldn't understand his own words. But he could see the way Birgir’s expression changed. Loki could barely hear him, but the man was, likely, talking to the entity with some sort of angry determination, with demands to… What? ‘Leave this body’? Loki was far too close to his full-blown seizure, but, surprisingly, hadn’t lost consciousness yet, even though he could no longer stay upright, regardless of the fact that he was sitting on a chair, his back against the wall. Everything around him seemed muddled, but, somewhere deep inside, he was scared. The man slapped Loki across the face really hard, at least twice, demanding attention Loki could hardly give at the moment. Yet, he could hear Birgir demanding that he fought the spirit. But how? It had never worked before, even if he was capable of trying something. Normally, he had been already unconscious by this point. Next thing he knew was falling on the floor with a loud, tortured moan, already having his seizure, his consciousness rapidly leaving him.

     When he woke up, the back of his neck was branded with some magical symbols. He wasn’t sure how he managed to hide the painful burns from everybody else. The burns wouldn’t stop hurting for a long time. They looked like complicated sigils, one under another. The lowest one was above Loki’s old scar from the ritual on Vanaheim. Only these ones had been burned into his skin with heated and previously enchanted metal. At least, he had been unconscious this time as he'd had being permanently scarred… A small mercy.

     Loki made a research on the sigils. Similar ones were in an old book that described a ritual of summoning a hostile entity. It made sense since Loki’s Evil was one. So maybe this time?..

 

     The experiments continued. Very often, upon regaining consciousness, he was all too aware that his trousers were wet with urine, as he kept wetting himself, like many times before. The humiliation was familiar, but Birgir never seemed to pay attention anyway. Magic was all he cared about. A couple of times Loki woke up realising that he had vomited. It was hard to breathe, because some of the vomit was in his airway. He was so weak, it took him a lot to just cough it up and turn on his front so that the vomit at least leaked out on the floor freely. During one of such occasions, he just knew he had to wake up, because he was in danger. It felt like his consciousness was close enough to reach, yet it kept slipping away. Fortunately, he could already feel his body. It was hurting, though. His head hurt and it felt like it was stuffed with cotton. When awareness had finally returned to him, at least for the most part, everything was familiar. He was weak on the floor in a room he had secretly grown to hate: Birgir’s work room. This time, some herbs had been forced into Loki’s mouth during the seizure, while he’d been unconscious. It had been twined in a small wreath, a thick ring in his mouth. Loki's vomit was leaking out of his mouth from the side of it. He was afraid that the herb and his own vomit would choke him and, while he couldn't yet move properly, he was lying on the floor as panicked as his exhausted brain was allowing him to be. He was helpless, his shaking hand didn't follow the commands of his mind, as he was attempting to retrieve the herbal wreath out of his mouth. He could feel helpless tears running out of his eyes. The herbs in his mouth, mixed with his saliva, started burning his tongue, palate and, already irritated by the vomiting, throat. He could hardly breathe at all, and there was an urge to throw up once more. Meanwhile, Birgir was at his desk, muttering under his breath and fervently writing down his earlier observations, not even looking in the direction of the subject of his experiments, who was wordlessly begging for help with barely audible whimpers and choked, wheezing breaths, while his body was shaking helplessly on the floor.

     A few days later, he would wake up in a similarly bad condition after another potion-induced seizure, his body burning and hurting awfully after a severe flagellation. He knew there were magical rituals that involved whipping, but… beating the Evil out of him? Literally? He would’ve been fine with it if only it was helpful. But it wasn’t.

 

     He lived in a constant terror of having a seizure and being abused, while he was vulnerable and often unaware, and, at any rate, helpless. One day, during a meal with his family, he felt a headache and a weak, unpleasant sensation in his stomach. He thought it was happening again and nearly started weeping. Thor and Frigga took him to his chambers, put him into his bed comfortably and stayed with him for a while. Nothing happened. Frigga said he must have been so nervous that his senses had deceived him. She looked worried, but, at the same time, wanted to be comforting and supportive.

     But, apart from that, Loki's seizures were very frequent now, even without being induced. The mage said it was good. It meant that they’d made the Evil fret. Loki wasn't convinced. But, perhaps, the Evil was just vengeful and, while no ritual, spell or potion had made it leave, it was taking its discomfort out on Loki. The truth was that it was **he** , who was fretting, terrified, actually, not the Evil. He hated the mage now and wanted him gone. He had been so determined to endure anything, just to make the spirit stop torturing him, but now he was no longer sure he wanted anything at all. Everything hurt. His head hurt almost constantly. Sometimes he felt as if he was losing his mind. It had become clear that Birgir had little idea of what he did, at least when it came to Loki’s case. It was quite possible that he had only made things worse. Loki didn’t know anything anymore. He was tired.

     Eventually, it all had come to the worst episode in his life; he had suspected it would come down to something like that. Thankfully, Birgir wasn't anywhere close by when it happened while Loki was in the library; Birgir’s regular methods and the lack of actual help would've probably killed the Prince that day. He was having an unusually long seizure that lasted no less than a quarter of an hour. But, after that, he wasn't conscious for long, if at all, before the second one began. He'd had things like that happening before, rarely though, but it had never lasted that long. There were more seizures, and he barely became conscious at all, even between them.

     The servants only managed to bring him to the healing chambers before another one, a frighteningly long-lasting one, struck. His breathing was visibly compromised, and, while he wasn’t aware of anything, to others it looked like he was suffering terribly. Thor was the first one to be there, and the rest of their family were summoned. They were trying to prepare themselves for the worst, helplessly watching their son and brother possibly dying before their eyes. One of the healers made the decision to sedate the presumably dying Prince, at least to ease his last minutes or hours of life. Some assumed he was dying physically, others secretly believed that the entity was killing him to take control permanently.

     The healers could only ease his sufferings by addressing the symptoms. Even if Loki was unconscious, again, to most his condition looked like a pure torture. If he was to die, they could at least make sure he passed away with as little pain and discomfort as possible. And if he was going to survive then simply taking care of him could be a determinant. They eased his convulsions, relaxing his muscles with spells; even then, he was jerking slightly, but, eventually, it stopped. They made sure he was breathing properly, since his body had a problem doing it on its own, which could seriously damage his brain. They also did their best to slowly and carefully bring his heartbeat back to normal. It did a lot of good, not to mention that it brought relief to his overstrained body. They had their doubts and secret speculations, however, about what his condition had already done to his brain. There were also doubts whether he still had his personality intact, even if his body survived the ordeal. Some feared that if he ever woke up again, it would no longer be Loki. Perhaps, Loki was already dead. But they weren't allowed to make such assumptions when the Prince's life was at a stake.

     Thor, Frigga and Odin barely left what was supposedly Loki's deathbed, while he was deeply asleep after being sedated. He still had some occasional trouble with breathing, so magic was repeatedly used to considerably ease it for him. But even then, the members of the family, usually secretly from each other, checked if he was breathing and if his heart was beating. The deep sedation almost made him look dead already.

     Frigga took it upon herself to take care of her son’s needs and his comfort, instead of leaving it to the healers’ apprentices, who usually did things like that. Even though Loki couldn’t feel it anyway, Frigga never spared a gentle touch or word for him. She even refused to let one of the apprentices change her son’s clothes, eager to do it on her own, because, while she refused to admit it, it could be her last time taking care of him. It was then when she discovered that, under his clothes, Loki's body was covered with healing bruises and abrasions. Appalled, she also discovered that he had been branded with magical symbols and that his back and hips bore the healing marks of flogging. The same marks were on the soles of his feet, and Frigga was angry with herself for not really paying attention to how he'd been slightly limping about a week earlier, while stubbornly assuring her that he was fine. There were abrasions on his wrists, ankles, thighs and midsection, which made it clear that he had been strapped down to something.

     The investigation followed immediately and the horrible truth was discovered.

     Frigga was the one who carried out the sentence with Odin's absolute support. She looked like a furious goddess she was. Birgir was disgraced and it wasn't hard for the Queen of Asgard to permanently tarnish his reputation. Before getting him thrown into prison for harming a royal person, she also cursed him to the rest of his days. If he ever found a way to start writing again, which he loved, he'd manage a sentence and a half, at best, before his writing became an unintelligible nonsense, a disjointed collection of letters. The same happened to his speech: a couple of short sentences, but everything that followed was an absolute gibberish of a madman. He could've been imprisoned for life or even executed for hurting a member of the royal family, but Loki had agreed to his treatment voluntarily. That fact was working in Birgir’s defence, therefore, while he would spend long years in prison, he would, eventually, become free again. He would never be free of Frigga’s curse, though. Nobody would get away with hurting her child. If Loki died, however, she wouldn’t stop until the one guilty of it was completely destroyed.

     Once she was done with the trial, she was immediately back at her son’s side. He was still unconscious even days after this nightmare had begun. Gently, she ran her hands through his hair. It had been curlier when he'd been younger, but, since his adolescence, he preferred to slick it down. She did it for him now, as taking care of him brought her some relief, while she could see and hear him breathing, being so close to him; and, later, it allowed her to notice the way his eyes started to slightly open and close again. She refused to believe that it was anyone but her son coming back to his senses.

 

     Loki's recovery took quite some time. It was hard for him to concentrate at first, he was confused often enough, but he was slowly getting better. Frigga, finally, allowed herself to sleep in her own chambers, because she'd been sleeping in the bed near Loki's when his condition had been critical or just much less stable than recently. She had been afraid that, if she left him, she wouldn't see him alive ever again, so she'd spent most of her time near him, sometimes sharing her power to support his body, hoping that it would help him to heal the damage his condition (and a certain person’s cruelty) had caused.

 

     Soon, Loki just started to accept the fact that ever finding the way to be rid of the Evil was a futile endeavour, so all he could do was return to what he knew as his life.

     He had a few one-night stands, too curious to learn what it was like to miss an opportunity to try. It was sometimes paid with money and always with those who didn't recognise the possessed prince. Those, mostly men, but some women as well, didn’t matter though. There was one elite prostitute, an elven male, who was good to him and knew how to pleasure him, especially when it came to using his long and slightly thin elvish manhood, so Loki kept coming back to him for years. It was convenient.

     Loki both treasured the memory and regretted asking for Thor’s kiss, because once just wasn't enough at all. Yet, he had mostly hidden the memory deep within his heart, not daring to touch it any longer, because it was too sacred.

 

     Sometimes he became overwhelmed. He thought about Thor, he thought about the looks people threw his way, he thought about healers and sorcerers scrutinising him in every way possible, violating something in him. He thought about all of those failed, painful experimentations he had been subjected to, in order to make the Evil finally let him go; about the scars he bore: some on his body, some in his soul. He wondered if he should just end it all. If he ended his life, the Evil would die, too. His family would be free of the burden. By ending his life, he would show them how much he loved and respected them and wanted them to have normal lives. Loki couldn't have a normal life, but **they** could, if he was no longer a bother. Another thing that supported that thought was the fact that his family would not be forced to witness him being put down like a rabid dog, once the Evil took over. What if one of them would be forced to do it? Loki wouldn't care if it happened, he would be dead by then, most likely, but he didn’t want to hurt them more that he already had.

     Oddly enough, quite often, when he was absorbed into that type of thoughts, his Mother's touch brought him back, away from the dangerous metaphorical edge. As if she knew. It could be a coincidence, but everything could very well be written on his unhappy face, and his mother knew him all too well. She would take his hand in her two warm ones or put her hand on his back, where one of the scars was hidden under his clothes. And, somehow, she always managed to make everything less painful or gloomy. She'd always been his anchor.

     How could she love a creature like him so selflessly? How could she ignore the disgrace he brought upon her? And, even now that he was an adult man, she wouldn't dismiss him as a child long grown, who wasn’t supposed to need a mother's care. He did, though. He needed it, and it wasn’t letting her go; she couldn't fully enjoy her freedom like most other mothers could when their children were self-sufficient adults to be proud of.

     He was afraid she'd be taken away from him, he was afraid that somebody would point out that it was the Evil that was holding her captive (with magic or manipulation), clouding the Queen's mind, while she was unaware of it. He was afraid that she'd start believing it, eventually, if they were persistent enough. How was he going to live without her then? Yes, she was better off without him, but he was selfish. He needed her, he clung to her and the thought of losing her love terrified him. What a disgrace he was.

 

     Years later, he learnt that he was also a monster, on top of everything. He hadn’t been just born possessed by a monster. He **was** a monster, the worst kind of one. A Jötunn. Evil by default.

     Perhaps, all Jötnar were born with the Evil, and that was the reason they all were so vile and barbaric; perhaps, it was normal for their putrid, filthy kind. He wanted to destroy the Evil, once and for all. He would destroy all of them. Odin should've let him die when he’d found him as a baby. Loki was going to fix everything. He was half-crazed, obsessed with the idea.

     Thor didn’t let him, though. All he could think of was his new whore who had changed him during the short time of his banishment. Apparently, she wouldn’t have been impressed with him if he participated in the destruction of living creatures, no matter how vile and harmful they were, just as she wasn’t impressed with broken cups. Thor couldn’t disappoint her like that, of course.

     Odin didn’t approve of the noble impulse either. They didn’t understand. He had wanted to do everyone a favour by destroying his own kind, and himself in the end. But, even more than that, he had wanted to show that he was worth something, despite his defect. What other option was left for Loki other than death?

 

     But, it appeared, he couldn’t even have **that** after he had let go of Gungnir and focused on the faces of his not-Father and not-Brother to take the clear memories of them into his afterlife, even though he didn’t want any. They were getting more and more distant and he was prepared for the void to give him its deadly embrace. But it didn’t happen. Very soon, it weakened him significantly and he was barely conscious, but he was alive, cocooned by his own magic he didn’t remember summoning. Despite the haziness of his mind, he was terrified. He'd known that the Evil controlled his life, but he hadn’t known how much. It wouldn't give him peace and much desired death... It refused to die with the body it used as its peel. That parasite…

     He felt like a lost, broken boat that was being carried farther and farther away. There was a feeling of absolute loneliness and long-awaited peace. He felt calm and truly resigned now. There was no turning back, there was nothing to come back to. He'd let go... Had his heart died the moment he could no longer see Thor? It still kept beating, he could feel its steady thrum, connected to the protective cocoon of magic, but it didn't matter any longer. Mother, Father and Thor no longer had him and he no longer had them. He was gone and they could have their lives now. _‘It's over...’_ It was over even though the Evil wouldn't let his shell of a body die.

 

* * *

 

     What had he to lose when the other beings, who had found him, took control of his life as well? He had never been in control of anything.

 

     Midgard… It was the world of opportunities, on the one hand; yet, it repulsed Loki, together with its people, on the other hand. Everything had changed here since the last time he had visited this realm. Everything was so alien. He was the alien, though.

     The Other, that damned creature, wouldn't give him a moment of rest. It kept demanding results, kept threatening him. Loki was stressed and he wasn't surprised when another episode struck, especially given the fact that The Other had contacted him earlier. Again. It was always a bit overwhelming for his mind and involved some flickering within his inner vision.

     He came to, lying on his side on the floor. Where was he? Oh, of course, his temporary base, full of his brainwashed minions, happily busy with their tasks. Norns, he felt awful. His head hurt so much that it took a while for his thoughts to become coherent. Thankfully, there was something soft underneath it. Where had it come from? Once he managed to lift his head a little, he saw that it was somebody’s olive military jacket, rolled up to cushion his head nicely. He wasn’t ready to get up just yet, so he let his head fall back onto it.

‘Are you awake now, Sir’, he suddenly heard. He must have lost sense of time and reality, as well as any lucid thought, while his mind had been resting. Or, perhaps, he’d napped for a while (he didn’t want to think he’d had another seizure during that time, but it didn’t feel like he had).

‘Hawkeye?’ Loki mumbled without really looking at the archer, just recognising the voice.

‘Yes, Sir. Do you need any help?’

‘No, just a few minutes of peace would be sufficient’, he replied slowly, slurring the words a little. The archer, of course, didn’t really care about him. It was the effect of the brainwashing that was making him so helpful. They all had been programmed to avoid or fix any drawbacks and interruptions as much as possible, and to obviate difficulties. Despite his magic and the fact that he was much harder to kill than they were, they **could** , in fact, kill him without much trouble when he was in his most vulnerable, unless the spirit activated his magic for protection. He wondered if things, hypothetically, could come down to something like that if they deemed him someone who was jeopardising the whole operation and was, in fact, the problem they had to eliminate, in order to continue with the plan without anybody lagging behind. The thought, oddly enough, made him smile, and it wasn’t a bitter smile, he actually found it entertaining.

‘You're ill, Sir. I can bring you a...’

‘No’, was all Loki said, interrupting him. Why was there always somebody to ruin the mood? It was enough that the spirit had been the bane of his existence since the time he had been a child, and explaining it to a mortal, even the one under the influence of the strange sceptre, didn't seem even remotely appealing. Hawkeye nodded, accepting his answer, but Loki noticed him and others looking at him now and then, their faces unreadable.

     The seizure repeated a little later that very day. He should have been a little more specific when he had rejected the help earlier, because he found himself lying on the floor in a very uncomfortable position (apparently, the first time it had happened here, somebody had turned him on his side and made him comfortable) and his head was against the hard concrete with nothing to cushion it this time. He’d had to be a bit more far-sighted… Norns, he was a wreck. He even had to use quite a bit of magic to heal his body to make it go back to normal faster.

 

* * *

 

     When Thor explained that it wasn't really Loki's fault that he was like that now, because he was possessed, they didn't know what to think. On the other hand, if they had Norse gods currently on Earth, the mysterious possession didn't seem like such an impossible thing. Thor insisted that his little brother had fallen victim to an evil spirit that had been, at least mostly, under control until recently. He didn’t want anybody to kill him for that reason, hoping that there was still hope and his Loki was still alive and simply overpowered by the spirit.

     But now that Loki was writhing on the floor of the glass cell in seemingly painful convulsions, people started to have serious doubts. He had been so smug and self-confident before, obviously waiting for something after surrendering himself to them suspiciously easily, but it had been abruptly interrupted by the seizure he was currently having. Thor sighed and entered the cell with some vial he’d brought with him from Asgard. It was something new the healers had come up with, and, having no other options, the Thunderer had no choice but use it, forcing a few drops between the stiff jaws. It hadn’t brought any visible effect, so he was wondering aloud if he had to use more. Banner, who was watching the whole scene with no small amount of academic curiosity, talked him out of it, warning that he could’ve ended up choking his brother.

     The seizure ended on its own, as always, and Loki was left to rest in the cell, asleep for a long time.

 

     Later, Clint Barton, when he was finally free from the mind-control after his failed attempt to free Loki, according to the plan, said that he, too, had seen two of such seizures and had had no doubt what they were. Bruce totally agreed and proceeded to explain Thor what was, in all probability, going on with his brother. The Prince had never heard of epilepsy; it was an alien concept to his people.

     He was very sceptical at first, yet didn’t mind getting all information he could get. They showed him a few videos of people having epileptic seizures; adults and children. And Thor recognised Loki's in most of them. Some were different to his brother’s, but many were identical. There were no evil spirits in them, just brain illness that a person could live with and even keep it under control, to some extent, although there were unexplained cases of deaths in some of those who suffered from that illness. He was asked several questions and his answers only confirmed Bruce’s thoughts on that matter.

     It took Thor a while to come to terms with the new information. There were no epileptics on Asgard, nor there were any in the majority of the other realms, judging by the lack of knowledge among their healers and other mages who had tried to 'heal' Loki, or rather rid him of something that wasn’t there. But, apparently, epileptics existed on Jötunheim, and possibly weren’t common enough for many people outside of their realm to know anything about it.

‘I tried to estrange myself from him, in belief that I was fated to lose him, at any rate, and thus, it was best to reconcile myself to it and learn to live without him, even as he was alive still. I left him on his own with his illness’, Thor shook his head in regret. He hadn’t outright shunned Loki, but he could’ve been more supportive, more… there; like their Mother had been.

 

     Loki refused to believe it. They were trying to manipulate him, of that he was sure. Thor was a fool, he was ready to believe anything, unwilling to see that these insects were just trying to deceive the both of them. Surprisingly, the fool had had some brain in his otherwise stupid head to put enchanted manacles he'd brought from Asgard on Loki, while he’d been recovering. He could no longer use his seiðr and the whole ‘glorious purpose’ had gone to the dogs now. Wonderful... Thanos was likely ecstatic.

     He criticised and challenged Banner’s theory by sharing some personal information, he, otherwise, wasn’t keen on sharing. For example, he told Banner about the strong feeling of impending death he sometimes experienced prior to his seizures. Bruce answered that it was perfectly normal and named a few conditions that had a symptom like that, epilepsy included. It was described in plenty of their medical books. Yet, Loki wasn’t convinced. He recalled that terrible time when he'd had a seizure after seizure for an unprecedented amount of time; he’d barely regained consciousness for many hours and it had taken way too long for him to recover afterwards. It had been the most torturous and frightening thing that his 'illness', as the human insisted on calling it, had put him through. And, undoubtedly, it had been connected to the severe abuse Loki had endured in the hands of Birgir, who had claimed it had been the reaction of the spirit to the mage’s attempts to expel it (not that his opinion was credible after everything he had done, and Loki wasn’t about to share his traumatising experience with humans, even though he suspected that Thor, the annoying blabbermouth, had already told them more than enough). But, again, the Midgardian said that it wasn’t unheard of and they even had a term for that life-threatening condition. 'Status epilepticus', he said it was called. And, yes, lapses of memory were normal, and yes, hallucinations were common, too. They called that strange condition before seizures 'aura'. Banner described some other symptoms Loki often had, such as the metallic taste in his mouth, seizures somewhat provoked or aggravated by stress. And involuntary urination wasn't uncommon either; it was not something he was going to discuss with them, though, unless Thor was generous enough to inform them of it as well. While Loki couldn’t be certain of it, he was furious, nonetheless, and made sure to take it out on the know-all.

     He decidedly refused to let the S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medics examine him. He didn't like them and there was absolutely no way he would trust them. He snapped at Thor when the fool tried to insist. Loki solemnly promised to kill anybody who dared to touch him, even though he couldn’t use magic for it. He’d find the most gruesome way to murder anyone who tried to approach him with that. He’d had more than enough experience of being experimented on. If these ants tried it with him, they’d pay with their lives. He made sure they knew it and it was only then when he realised that he was visibly nervous and agitated. He didn’t want them to see his weakness.

     Banner tried to explain him that doctors of their realm took the Hippocratic Oath that forbade them to harm or neglect their patients, probably hoping that it would buy some trust from someone who came from a culture where oaths were taken seriously. Loki only snorted at it. Everything he knew about S.H.I.E.L.D. told a different story. Their medics would only have their organisation’s best interest at heart and those interests were, quite often, not so honourable. Loki had no problem voicing it, assured that he’d made some people, who, undoubtedly, watched and listened to this whole ‘one-to-one’ conversation, fidget on their arses.  
In addition, that so-called oath didn't have any magical or any other mechanism to prevent it from being broken. There were magical oaths in many other realms that made oath breakers suffer, get ill or even die. There was nothing like that on Midgard. To Loki their oaths meant nothing. He was sure plenty of their doctors broke that so-called oath, causing harm and even numerous deaths. It was nothing one wouldn’t see in most realms (only Elves were probably gentler and much more careful when it came to anybody’s health or life). He didn't hesitate to tell them everything he thought about them, their laws and oaths, launching an angry tirade against everyone who could hear.

     Banner might agree with some of his arguments, there was no denying it, but he could no longer continue this talk. He took off his spectacles with an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Loki almost expected the green beast to show itself. Playing with fire was exciting, even though he could be asking for his own death by provoking the Midgardian.

     Bruce only tolerated all of it, because Thor had nicely asked him to talk to his brother after explaining their situation that couldn’t not affect him as a doctor and as a human being. But, in the end, he gave up and left.

     Two days later, he brought Loki several books that provided some information about epilepsy. From what Thor had told him, they could understand any verbal language, but, when it came to reading, they were more likely to fully understand texts, written in North Germanic languages, so Bruce had obtained and brought books, written on those languages and left the irritating god to them without attempting to talk to him again, for everyone’s safety.

 

     Loki didn’t want to believe Banner or the books, but there were facts he simply couldn’t ignore. He needed time to come to terms with everything he’d learned. But so did Thor. He had to come to terms with the knowledge that it wasn’t Loki controlled by the evil spirit who had caused the whole disaster on Midgard. It had been just Loki, personally. He was so angry about it that he didn’t trust himself with approaching his brother for the first few days. It was getting better, but, at times, the anger came back, so the Thunderer wanted to thrash his brother by his shoulders, shouting accusations and demanding explanations. Then he thought how fragile Loki looked when the ailment struck and afterwards; he thought about their Mother, who wanted her sons back and well. No matter how angry Thor was, his worry for Loki always won.

 

     Thanos and his Chitauri had failed by gambling on a disabled, defective god, who was currently at the mercy of humans. Loki couldn’t help laughing, lying down on the bench inside his glass cell. He hoped that The Other was facing the music for it, personally. Ah, small mercies.

     Later that day, Thor came to him, entering the cell this time, as if Loki’s headache wasn’t enough to torment him. He made sure to turn his back on the Golden Prince.

‘Loki, allow them to help you’, Thor said without preamble, sitting down on the edge of the bench.

‘No’, Loki shook his head firmly. ‘No’.

‘Their healers are not better than ours, in most regards, but they know of your ailment and they know how to treat it. Others… didn’t’.

‘I said “no”! Are you deaf?!’ the younger of two exclaimed in rage at the very mention of ‘others’.

‘Please, allow them to help’, Thor insisted, positively determined not to lose his temper this time. ‘For Mother’.

  
* * *

 

     They brought him to a medical facility in Switzerland, where one of the best neurologists in the world worked, according to Banner. The middle-aged man, originally from Norway, personally, went out to meet the unusual patient. He was positively unimpressed with the armed men next to his patient.

     Loki immediately liked the doctor when said doctor rolled his eyes at the agents and the stupid communication devices on their heads, as they were constantly babbling into them, because they had some trouble understanding the doctor, who pretended not to know their language at first. But then he got bored and started speaking their language, just to get rid of them sooner, Loki suspected. Oh, yes, he liked the man already. They had things in common: they hated S.H.I.E.L.D. and liked to make people uncomfortable, as well as to make them look like fools (especially when they were, in fact, fools and needed that fact pointed out to them). He felt an odd kind of pleasure, seeing how the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents tried to explain that they were there to accompany the dangerous criminal and it would be in everyone’s best interests if doctor Karlsen just allowed them to do their work by letting them in, together with their charge. Again, the doctor wasn’t impressed and answered that they had no right to be in his hospital and that they would not be getting on his way while he was working with his patient and, no, they would not be able to familiarise themselves with the results of the upcoming examination or with anything else Loki’s file would contain if, after the examination, the doctor decided that he’d be able to work with him. He hinted that any attempts to breach a patient’s privacy or intruding the hospital (which was also a research centre), where they had no permission to be, would result in a court case and unflattering articles in papers. He didn't give a damn if their superiors wanted to have a better understanding of how the body of this particular 'alien species' worked. Everything in this centre was between a doctor and his or her patient, as it should be. After making it clear, he wished the agents to have a good day with a fake smile and politeness, and invited Loki in. Undoubtedly, Karlsen had been prepared to deal with the officials, who liked to pull rank on others, in order to intimidate those who didn’t really know how things truly worked and what they could or couldn't do.

     Doctor Karlsen said that Thor could stay, only because he was a family member, and only if his new patient didn't mind. Loki wasn’t sure what to do at first. On the one hand, he would love to see the annoying fool thrown out, together with his new friends (not that he was friends with those particular agents and not that the doctor would be able to physically throw him out, unfortunately), on the other hand, the thunder god could ensure that no harm came to Loki, as he no longer had the protection of his seiðr. He wasn’t sure he was ready to trust Thor, who trusted Midgardians a little too much. What if he allowed to harm his ‘little brother’, thinking that it was an inevitable part of treatment? He didn’t know what to believe, but, in the end, he agreed to have the Thunderer at his side. For now. And so, Thor was allowed into the medical centre with him.

     The doctor was quite attentive to him and open-minded, not to mention, intrigued and determined to work with the unusual patient. Loki couldn’t help tensing, remembering Birgir. That one had been intrigued with him as well, abusing him and assuring him that it was absolutely required. Loki didn’t want anybody else to brutalise him ‘for his own good'. There was a lump in his throat at the thought. Apparently, it showed, because Thor looked at him with worry and comprehension.

 

     Loki didn't resist as Thor started to undress him slowly before putting a hospital gown on him (the embarrassing thing he had to wear, as he had to follow the rules, like everyone else here, to get help). All of Loki's clothes and jewellery had to be removed and it were Thor’s hands that were doing it for him. It felt intimate; both relaxing and somewhat thrilling (a little arousing, too, even though Loki’s mind was currently occupied with other things). They were alone in the room and, mercifully, Thor was quiet.

     After a general, thorough check-up, there were more in-depth tests to be performed. What they called MRI, didn't give a clear picture, because Loki's seiðr wasn't restrained completely and interfered with the work of the machine. So Thor had to put the second manacle onto Loki's unrestrained wrist that he had freed earlier to allow the younger god more physical mobility. But, even as the magic was fully restrained, the enchanted manacles on their own, as it turned out, weren't very good for the scans. There were several failed attempts to perform that test. On top of everything, Mjölnir was found to be affecting some machines, and Thor ended up carrying her to the park that was on the territory of the hospital, where he hid her among the bushes (not that anybody else could lift Mjölnir anyway, but he didn't want her to attract attention). After that, the test worked well, a small interference from the manacles notwithstanding.

     Once they succeeded to obtain scans they could work with, EEG was the next test they performed. Midgardians loved abbreviations and acronyms. Perhaps, their lives were too short to pronounce words like ‘electroencephalography’ every time. It was entertaining to hear Thor trying to pronounce it. They ended up smiling at each other as a result.

     Good mood didn’t last, as Loki was told that for the future tests, in order to understand how his brain worked and how the illness affected it, they would have to induce his seizures. But it was his first day there and they didn’t want to ‘overwhelm’ him so soon, so they wanted to postpone it and let him settle down, instead. It took them a while to convince him that analysing his seizures was imperative, because they lacked necessary information they needed to be able to help him. Loki was half a mind to leave the centre now, but Thor managed to convince him to stay. Was Loki right, thinking that his so-called brother would let him get hurt, because he trusted his precious Midgardians so much?

     His hospital room wasn’t very large, but it would do. It had two beds for Thor and himself. The Thunderer broke his bed the very first night (to Loki’s immense amusement), because, while it was big enough, it couldn’t sustain his weight, so he just put the mattress with all the bedding on the floor and apologetically presented the remains of the bedstead to someone from the hospital personnel the next day.

     Thor was quick to obtain some Midgardian clothes for himself to avoid drawing any additional attention to the two of them. He usually wore dark trousers with too many pockets and a black t-shirt with the image of a dark, magnificent tree, printed on the front of it. Loki thought he looked stupid (not because he looked bad, he didn’t, but because he didn’t like him wearing the same clothes Midgardians wore, as if he was one of them, like his latest contest Loki absolutely refused to think about). But who was he to complain when what he was normally wearing now was a cotton hospital gown, long cotton trousers underneath it and light cloth slippers?

 

     New tests were not at all pleasant, as they involved causing seizures with various ‘triggers’, usually flickering lights, flashes and some overwhelmingly contrast images, even though he didn’t normally need anything like that for a seizure to start. It usually didn't take long for the effects of such stimulation to appear. It was frightening, too, and, quite possibly, the stress contributed to the successful inductions of his fits. Sometimes he could hear himself whimpering before passing out when a seizure started rather quickly, sometimes he couldn’t remember, afterwards, the beginning of the test, or even his way to the room where it took place, but sometimes it took longer and he always felt ill for sometime before the ‘triggers’ finally did their job. He hated it. And it was only the beginning, because they were going to continue, in order to test their medications on him, the ones they would have to alter to suit him, personally.

     Doctor Karlsen promised not to put anything related to Loki into the computer system of the centre. Instead, he was writing everything down by hand into a file with a fake name. He said that he was sure S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were going to hack their computer system, if they hadn’t already. Loki was only vaguely familiar with this realm’s technology, but he got the idea and he liked that his privacy was respected.

     Of course, things weren’t simple. With all their technology and knowledge of the illness, they couldn't just heal epilepsy. He was glad he already knew it from the books. He would’ve been extremely disappointed and furious if he only learned it in this centre after they had already begun their tests.

 

     He had been in the hospital for about three months now, as the doctor kept working on the perfect medications for him, since normal doses of active ingredients in the medications that were usually prescribed to epileptics weren't enough for him. In addition, his illness wasn’t entirely typical. There were barely significant differences, because he wasn’t a human. Therefore, his case needed a very special approach. Higher concentrations of active ingredients had to be used, and the end result of such manipulations had to lead to something that his metabolism wouldn’t deal with too quickly and wouldn’t bring too dangerous side effects (even though such medications always brought some side effects to pretty much everybody who took them).

     Even with the relatively comfortable atmosphere of the centre, Loki couldn't help but panic sometimes, afraid that he wouldn't be able to leave the place if he wanted to, that they wouldn't let him if he tried. It was ridiculous, since humans would hardly be able to lock him up. On the other hand, he couldn’t use his seiðr, so there was no way to be sure. Nobody seemed to be held against their will in this place, though. People came and went. Some stayed longer, others only for a couple of weeks.

     At times he barely left his room. He wouldn't even go to the cafeteria, making Thor bring him his food, which he did several times per day. He didn't want to see the other patients, which probably was a wise decision, because he would just take his bad mood out on them. He avoided them. Why did they smile or laugh? Why did they celebrate their holidays if said holidays happened to take place during the period of their hospitalisation? They were defective, like himself. All of them were just sick, disabled fools, laughing stocks. Some people in their so-called progressive world, especially in some parts of it, still thought that epileptics or people with mental health problems were possessed by demons. _‘What a coincidence’_ , he thought bitterly, whilst making a research on the topic.

     In any case, he didn’t need their useless company and he didn’t want anyone to try and be friendly to him. Those S.H.I.E.L.D. halfwits, most definitely, kept watching the hospital, even though they weren't allowed inside. It wouldn’t surprise Loki if they already had some of their people here, pretending to be a patient or a nurse. For that reason, he wasn't kind to anybody who showed any interest in him.

 

     One day, Sif, Fandral and Volstagg came to visit via, at least mostly repaired by now, Bifröst (the S.H.I.E.L.D. fools, who were spying from outside of the territory of the facility (at the very least), were probably hysterical and, likely, started screeching and babbling into their communication devices, interrupting each other, like imbeciles Loki knew they were).

     It was a sunny day. Thor went outside to greet his friends. Loki, however, stayed inside, covertly watching them out the window. He wasn’t ready to face them, he just wasn’t, and, at the moment, he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to. While Thor kept talking to them, probably informing them of everything that had transpired from the moment he’d left to Midgard, Sif noticed Loki and took a small step forward, as if it would give her a better look. Others, including Thor, who turned his head a bit, noticed where her eyes were. Loki immediately hid himself behind the wall next to the window. He knew it looked embarrassingly childish, and it was, but, no, he wasn’t ready to meet anyone. Shame washed over him at being caught like that.

     Thankfully, they left after an hour-long walk with Thor.

 

     Loki had a breakdown the next day. They hadn’t been inducing seizures for a while, because they were testing a medicine he would be able to take regularly to keep the illness at bay, as much as possible. Yet, today he was supposed to have a planned fit to test something else. Before the nurse connected him to the machines, he got up and left; walked away quickly, not sure if he felt angry or desperate. He was sick of all of it. He was sick of being experimented on, like a rat they used in their labs. He was sick and tired of being such a rat. He had been experimented on before, left helpless and hurt, lying in his own urine and vomit, while his tormentor enthusiastically made notes. What was happening to him in this hospital wasn't that gruesome, but... he felt helpless at the mercy of strangers from another realm and he was tired. He was tired and unsure of what was going to happen to him afterwards, unsure of what to do with himself and his life.

     And there he was, at the tall, wrought iron paling, surrounding the facility. He was behind the park, situated on its territory, just in that stupid gown, trousers and slippers. He grabbed the bars with his hands and pressed his aching head against the cool metal, trying to restore a normal breathing and control the pain. He wanted to leave, but he didn’t feel well, so he found a bench nearby and sat down, closing his eyes and bending forward to press his face into his hands.

     He didn't know how long he'd spent wallowing in his misery and trying to block the images of abuse and disdain his illness had brought him. Wouldn’t it have been better to just accept that he was ill and live with it to the rest of his days, like he’d already been living since his childhood? There was no evil spirit, so his poorly body wasn’t going to be taken away from him. In fact, he was pretty sure now that no one and nothing in their right mind would even consider possessing it. Confound it…

     When he finally opened his eyes, squinting at the too bright daylight, he found Thor's sympathetic face there, in front of him. The Golden Prince was squatting in front of the bench, looking up at his distressed brother. Loki hadn’t even heard him approaching, so he couldn’t tell how long he had been there for.

     This time it took Thor quite some time to convince Loki to stay in the hospital and to try and endure the ordeal, instead of throwing away all the progress and chances to achieve more (not that Loki could see much progress). His decision to stay was, to some extent, motivated by the fact that he didn’t know where to go and what to do afterwards.

     They spent hours in the park, before Thor gently urged him to return. The test was, understandably, cancelled, so they could just go back to their room.

     Loki wasn’t sure what to think about a strong, warm arm around his shoulders the entire way back. He wasn’t sure what to make of the hands holding his face when he was sitting on a chair back in their room. He wasn’t sure what to think when a gentle kiss followed the whispers of comfort.

     It felt like something that just couldn't be happening. But it **was** happening. Their naked bodies were entwined together under the duvet of Thor’s ‘bed’ on the floor, and Thor was inside him; the friction was somewhere between uncomfortable and incredibly pleasurable, and, _‘Oh, Norns…’_ , Loki wanted more of it. It was happening... He knew Thor would stop if he asked him to, because it was becoming too much, yet he didn’t ask. He couldn’t and didn’t truly want to. He spurred Thor on, instead, and, all too soon, he spilled all over his own stomach with a loud moan before pressing his shivering body harder against Thor’s.

     As they were still pressed against each other afterwards, just enjoying the silent comfort and lazy motionlessness, he was afraid to ask if Thor was doing it all out of pity again, akin to that kiss many years earlier. He didn't want to know. They were finally as close as he’d never even hoped for the two of them to become, and yet he felt a little uneasy, because he didn't know where he stood now, and he was too nervous to demand answers. So he was silent. Thor was there, what more could he ask for?

 

     They had sex repeatedly, and Thor kissed him so many times that Loki hadn’t bothered to count, a little too overwhelmed anyway. He was always compliant, just going with it, when Thor wanted to have him; he would give himself, as long as Thor desired him. As long as Loki was allowed to touch him and inhale the scent of the warm skin and ozone, he would go with anything.

‘I'd love to see Mother again’, he confessed one night when he was resting inside the possessive embrace.

‘Of course. She wishes to see you, too, when you’re ready’, Thor replied and kissed his shoulder.

‘So you haven’t just told your friends everything, but met her behind my back as well?’ Loki frowned.

‘Yes’, the blond god answered, his tone apologetic.

‘Didn't you think it was my place to tell her everything when I was ready, not yours?’ He tried to sound angry, instead of upset, but wasn’t sure it was working.

‘I know, and I'm sorry. But I had to calm her heart and let her know she could trust me with you. I knew you wouldn't object if I put her worries to rest’, Thor explained. Loki saw his point and nodded, relaxing his tense body into the embrace again.

‘Are we allowed to come back someday?’ he asked.

‘I'm certain it shall happen sooner than you think. Give Mother time to prepare everything and… everyone for our return’.

‘Most Midgardian medicines deteriorate only after a couple of years’, Loki pointed out, deciding to ignore, for now, the thought that he was likely to face trial, once he was back on Asgard.

‘We shall take as much medicine for you as you need until it spoils, and some more for our healers to study. Mayhap, they can recreate it, or even make it better’, Thor mused aloud. Loki tensed again at the mention of the healers. Even if they meant well and were normally great at their job, there were much more of painful memories of ruined hopes than any good memories he had of any of them. He felt the arms tightening around him in reassurance. ‘If it's beyond their skills’, Thor continued. ‘Or, if you aren’t satisfied with their work, I shall travel to Midgard to buy more every time you need it’.

‘I have no love for Midgard, but I'm not sure I belong on Asgard either’, Loki confessed after a long pause.

‘Then we shall find another place for the time being’.

‘ “We”? There is no way to get rid of you now, is there?’ the younger of two sighed in mock exasperation, but was secretly thrilled.

‘Absolutely no way’, Thor grinned, but then his face softened and he gently touched the scars on Loki’s back with his lips. ‘I want you to know… I never cared about the possession everyone thought had befallen you. I cared about **you** , for I didn’t want you to suffer’.

 

 

**The End**

 


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